Johnlock OneWord Prompt Drabbles
by WhovianPotterheadSherlockian
Summary: Random Johnlock drabbles inspired by one-word prompts. Lots and lots of fluff. Some short, some really long. None should be taken as connected unless I mention otherwise. Feel free to leave a prompt in the reviews!
1. Nightmares Sherlock

**_A/N-_****_Okay so this is probably going to be terrible. All of them, really, but they are just random drabbles XD Let me know in the reviews! Enjoy!_**

As far as I knew, Sherlock had never had nightmares. At least, not nightmares as bad as mine. But there was one night in which we'd finished a case and I'd bullied him into getting some sleep for the first time in a week, I walked into the kitchen to get a cup of tea, and heard something coming from his room. I stopped by the stairs and waited for a moment, listening, and a heard another sound, like a cry. I set down my book and walked up the stairs, tapping lightly on his door. "Sherlock?"  
There was no response. I gave the door a little push, finding that it was already open, and peeked inside. Sherlock was sprawled out on the bed, blankets tangled with his limbs, thrashing around. He was definitely having a nightmare. I walked over to the bed. "Sherlock." I repeated. His expression was pained, his hair plastered to his forehead. I sat on the edge of the bed, cross-legged, and put a hand on his arm. "Sherlock, it's just a dream," I said quietly. His dream seemed to get worse as he bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood, his eyes shut tight.

"Sherlock!" I gave his arm a slight shake and he sat bolt upright, his eyes open wide with fright, watching the wall fixedly. He looked honest to god afraid to look round. "Sherlock?"

Slowly, Sherlock turned his head to look at me.

"You alright?"

He didn't respond. I put an arm around his shoulders and he leaned into me, burying his face into my neck. I felt warm tears dripping down his face, and I rubbed his back gently, using my free hand and sleeve to wipe the blood from his lower lip. "Shhh."  
We sat like this for a few minutes before he slowly pulled away, pulling his knees to his chest and hiding his face. I thought I spotted a bit of a pink blush creeping up his neck.

"Would it help talking about what happened?" I asked him. It worked, talking about it, but it wasn't fun in the process.

Sherlock shook his head, but he spoke anyway, muffled with his face buried in his knees. "You were still in the military, and you were fighting. You tripped and..." his voice was wavering. "There was a shot and lots of blood, and I was watching but I couldn't do anything." His words cracked. "You were gone, and I couldn't do anything."

I put my hand on his back again, rubbing it carefully. "It was just a dream. I'm right here." I said. Sherlock nodded and looked up at me. He reminded me of a child afraid of the dark. He was so much more.. innocent, at night.  
"Are you okay now?" I asked him. He nodded, but he looked unsure. "I'll be downstairs on the couch if you need anything, okay?" I stood up and walked towards the door.

"John?"

I stopped and turned to him. "Yes?"

"Can I come with you?"

"Are you still frightened?"

He nodded slightly, looking embarrassed for asking.

"Of course you can come."

Sherlock tumbled out of the bed, hurrying to follow me. He grabbed his blankets and wrapped them around his shoulders. I walked downstairs and sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping the telly on. Sherlock curled up next to me, still half asleep. "Will you put on NCIS?"

I laughed quietly. NCIS is the only American TV show that Sherlock doesn't criticize. Well, constantly anyway. I think he only watches it for Abby's scenes. "Sure."  
I put in the DVD with his favorite episodes that Lestrade got for him last Christmas and pressed play. Within a few minutes, he'd fallen asleep. I laughed quietly again, laying my head down on the back of the couch and closing my eyes.

At the end of the first episode, Sherlock cried out again, pulling me out of my almost-sleep-state. I shook my head, waking myself up before shaking him gently.

"Sherlock, shhh." I said softly. I shook him again and his eyes flew open, but quickly closed about halfway as he was still basically asleep.

"John?" he muttered sleepily.

"Yes, it's me." I nodded. Sherlock curled up closer, putting his head in my lap. I took his hand and rubbed the back of it with my thumb carefully.

"John?" he said again, trying to keep his eyes open.

"Mhm?" I responded, watching him.

"Please don't leave." he yawned.

"I'm not going anywhere." I told him, brushing the black curls from his face, out of the way of his eyes.

"Not just tonight," he said through another yawn, closing his eyes, "please never leave me."

A felt a slight flush creep up my cheeks, but I knew what he meant. "I won't."

"Promise?" his tired voice slurred the letters together slightly.

"Promise." I said. We sat in silence for a few moments, the only noise coming from the telly as the next episode of NCIS began. I thought that he'd fallen asleep, up until his eyes fluttered open again.

"John?" he said for a third time, sounding tired as ever.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you." His voice sounded truly apologetic, as if he really had watched me get shot. His eyes were sad, mirroring his voice, and his face still reminded me of a child.

"It's alright, Sherlock. Go to sleep, now." I said quietly, rubbing the back of his hand again. He closed his eyes and fell asleep quickly. I laid my head back down and slowly did the same.  
********************************************************************************************************

The next morning, I woke up to Sherlock's phone going off on the table in front of the couch. Sherlock was still next to me, curled up into a ball and facing the back of the couch, his dressing gown tucked up around his knees. I glanced at the clock. Sherlock had never slept in this late. I was proud. I reached forward and grabbed the phone, picking it up.

"Hello?"

"Sherlock, answer your texts." it was Lestrade.

"It's John, Sherlock's... Asleep." I whispered, the words sounding odd in my mouth. Sherlock was asleep.

"Well, wake him up, we have a new case. If you're not here in an hour, I'll send Anderson to get Sherlock moving."

"He'd hate you forever."

"Oh, I know." I heard the smirk in Lestrade's voice. "I'll text you the address. Bye." he hung up. I set Sherlock's phone back on the table and crossed my legs, turning to face Sherlock.

"Sherlock... Wake up." I gave him a small shake, which didn't work at all. "Sherlock." I sighed. Almost experimentally, I reached out and ran my fingers through his soft black curls. "Sherlock," I whispered, "wake up, we've got a case."

Sherlock moaned quietly and rolled over onto his back, stretching out so that his long legs were hanging off the end of the couch. "Lestrade called?"

I nodded. "He said if we aren't there in an hour, he'd set Anderson lose in our flat."

"Ugh, Anderson." he opened his eyes and jumped up onto his feet, stretching. "Gonna go get dressed. You should do the same, if you're coming."

"Of course I'm coming, I always come." I said, wondering why he'd think differently.

"I just... Of course. I'll be down in a bit. Have tea ready when I come back."

"Whatever you say."

Sherlock turned curtly, walking into the hall and up the stairs. I made my way into the kitchen, put water in the kettle and set it on the stove to boil. I yawned, leaning against the table, re-playing all of last night in my mind. _I really need to get a better night's sleep tonight_, I thought.

"John?"

I looked up, and Sherlock was on the top step, still in his pyjamas. "Yes?"

"Thanks, for helping me last night." he said, watching the floor, looking embarrassed. "I haven't had nightmares in years."

I smiled. "Anytime, Sherlock."


	2. Nightmares John

John Watson awoke with a start, sitting straight up in bed and panting. He'd had his usual nightmare again. He had been so sure that with Sherlock back, they would have gone away by now. But they hadn't. And it was because John was scared to death that Sherlock would leave him again.

He sat up and put his face in his hands. He tried to stop the tears that were threatening, but to no avail. The tears leaked quickly and when he took a moment to try to steady his breathing, his hands began to shake, his lower lip quivering as he tried not to cry. And that's when he snapped, a choked sob leaving the back of his throat. John was positive that Sherlock was downstairs right now, working on an experiment, trying to ignore John's frantic cries. Before Sherlock left, ever since they'd moved in together, Sherlock had ignored it. But there was something different now, in Sherlock's mind, something strange.

Even though Sherlock had wanted to help John with his nightmares from the moment he found out about them, he really wanted to help with these. Because they were caused by him. This thought struck Sherlock as he heard John cry out tonight. It was his fault that John was going through this pain and there was nothing he could do about it. Well... Almost nothing.

John's hands were covering his eyes as he took deep breaths and tried to calm himself. He was still shaking, and he knew it would be a few minutes before he was content again. He felt the bed sink to one side for a moment, and then cold hands pull his own away from his face.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked gently, crossing his legs on the bed. Gently? Sherlock didn't have a "gentle" voice, thought John. But this was pretty damn gentle.

John nodded a bit, but his hands were still shaking, even in Sherlock's grasp. "Just a nightmare."

"Worse than usual."

"Not really," John lied.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, not wanting to argue with John now. "You're sure you're alright?" he asked seriously.

"Mhm." John muttered. He knew the nightmares would probably come back in an hour or so. Why did Sherlock care now, anyway? Not that John was complaining... Something inside of him didn't really want Sherlock to leave.

"You're lying."

"How do you know?"

"Your responses become shorter and you mutter when you lie." Sherlock stated. John sighed.

"Okay, fine, they'll probably be back in an hour or so." he pulled his hands away. "Why do you care, anyway?"

Sherlock paused. He didn't want to tell the truth. "You won't be awake for the case tomorrow." he lied.

Something sank in John's stomach. Here he was, thinking that Sherlock actually _cared_ for once. "Right." he cleared his throat. "Sorry for disturbing you." he mumbled, turning so he was on his side, his back to Sherlock. "You can go back to your experiment now." There was a pause, and then the bed lifted. John heard Sherlock's footsteps move towards the door, and then they stopped.

"You're still shaking." Sherlock whispered observantly.

"Just a bit." John responded, wondering why Sherlock was pressing the matter. Then suddenly, the bed dipped down again, and John felt Sherlock sit down beside him.

"What are you doing?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock.

"Making sure you don't have another nightmare." Sherlock responded simply.

"Why would it help with you being here?" Of course, John knew the answer to that. There was a short pause.

"Because it's my fault." Sherlock whispered. Another pause. This one lasted seconds, but felt like minutes, maybe hours. John turned over and curled up into Sherlock's side, not saying a word. Sherlock didn't quite know how to respond to this. After an awkward moment, he put an arm around John protectively, pulling the blankets up around both of them. "'Night, John." Sherlock said quietly. John was already asleep.


	3. Homesick Sherlock

"Mycroft said I can't come, Sherlock." John sighed into the phone.

"But John, I'm really bored. There's nothing to do here." Sherlock complained.

"In Paris. There's nothing to do in Par- You're on a case, Sherlock! How is there nothing to do?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, trying to come up with a good excuse to cover up his homesickness. Is that what this was? He wondered. Homesickness? Or did he just miss John? "The case is simple and my flight home isn't for another week. I'm trying to be as slow as possible so I have something to do. Please come, John."

"Sherlock, Mycroft said-"

"Please?"

John exhaled loudly, giving up. "Fine. I'll be out there by tomorrow."

Sherlock beamed.


	4. Homesick John

Two weeks with Harry was getting to be a bit much. The first week was fine, but then New Year's Eve came along and Harry went out with some friends. Well, she'd gone a week without alcohol. That was a start.

John sighed, flipping the telly off and putting his head in his hands. He wished he was back at home, listening to Sherlock blow up random kitchen items and complain about how bored he was. He was surprised he hadn't gotten a call from Sherlock yet. The door opened and he heard Harry enter. Her friend was with her and they were slammed.

"Lovely." John muttered. As they entered the living room, giggling like a pair of idiots, John slipped into the kitchen and up the stairs into the guest room. He laid down on the bed and sighed, counting the cracks in the ceiling. Where were Sherlock's antics when he needed them? He found himself sending a text to Sherlock.

_Hey Sherlock. -JW  
_

_John? I thought you were at Harry's? -SH  
_

_I am. She's drunk. I've got nothing to do. -JW  
_

_Is someone a little homesick? -SH  
_

_I never said anything about being homesick. -JW  
_

_Normally when you're bored, you text Lestrade. You're texting me. We're flatmates. I remind you of our flat. Talking to me probably helps homesickness. -SH  
_

_Something like that, I guess. -JW  
_

_Come back, then. -SH  
_

_Ducking out on my sister? That would be awfully rude. -JW  
_

_Then I'll come there? -SH  
_

_You can't just invite yourself to someone else's house, Sherlock. -JW  
_

_Obviously. I'll get a hotel. -SH  
_

_You sure? -JW  
_

_If I wasn't sure, would I be offering? -SH  
_

_Good point. Text me when you get there. -JW  
_

John put his phone down and folded his hands behind his when when a thought struck him. He picked up his phone again.

_Bring milk. Harry's all out. -JW  
_

Just for good measure, he thought with a smirk.


	5. Self Consciousness Sherlock

**A/N- **_I'M SO SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I'VE UPDATED. There is no excuse for my laziness. But can I just say I've been dying to write this drabble forever? Haha xD Sherlock's super out of character, I know, hush hush. Just pretend. Use your imaginaaatiiooonnn._

Sherlock pushed open the door to 221B, stomping up the stairs. John jogged after him, trying to keep up. He'd spent the whole taxi ride trying to think of what had made Sherlock leave the crime scene so quickly. He ran through what happened in his mind several times.

They'd reached the crime scene, Sherlock ran through a massive speech on what had happened (follow by a brief complaint on how this was only a four and he could still be at home doing some sort of experiment if Lestrade hadn't called him,) Lestrade asked him how he knew, Sherlock went through the steps of his deductions, John complimented him, Lestrade called some people to find and arrest the killer, and Sally dropped one of her normal "freak" comments, to which Sherlock faced the opposite direction and stalked away, hailing a cab.

John's first idea had been that Sherlock was eager to return home to his experiments. That was proven untrue the moment John ran upstairs after Sherlock.

Sherlock slammed the door just as John approached it, nearly getting smacked square in the face. John pushed the door open and peeked inside to see Sherlock on the couch with his head in his hands.

"You alright over there?" John asked hesitantly.

"Fine." Sherlock responded shortly.

John took a step into the room closing the door gently behind him. "Are you sure? You've never left a crime scene so quickly."

"I have... Other things currently on my mind. And the killer was found, there was no point in staying."

"What kind of 'other things?'" John pressed, taking a seat in his chair.

"Nothing of importance to you."

John sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Then something dawned on him. He looked back at Sherlock. "Was it Sally?"

He noted Sherlock's muscles tensing. "What about Sergeant Donovan?" Sherlock asked.

"When she called you a freak. Is that why you left?"

"Donovan calls me a freak all the time. You should know at this point that it doesn't bother me what people think." Sherlock said. But there was a small twinge in his voice that told John otherwise.

"Sherlock. Look at me." Sherlock slowly raised his gaze to John. John watched him. "Do the things that they say to you hurt you? Even a little bit?"

Sherlock searched for words, keeping his eyes on John. "Donovan and Anderson have called me names since Lestrade found me. it's been quite a few years, and nothing they've said has ever really made a difference. But lately, something's made me... Something's made me wonder if..." Sherlock trailed off, opening his eyes and glancing back at John.

"If?" John continued.

"If maybe they're right." Sherlock muttered, looking down at his feet.

John was stunned. Sherlock? Self-conscious? Please. But as he watched Sherlock closer, he seemed to be telling the truth. And something panged in John's chest, making him for sorry for Sherlock. Everyone at Scotland Yard had called him a freak at least once in some way. He stood up and took a seat next to Sherlock.

"Sherlock?"

He looked back up at John upon hearing his name.

"You are not a freak." John said, complete truth ringing in John's voice. His eyes bore into Sherlock's, trying with all of his might to get this point across. "You're different, yes. But you're not a freak. You're special."

Sherlock watched John for a moment, trying to find a lie hidden in his eyes. When he realised that John was telling the truth, he laid his head on John's shoulder. "You're the first person ever who's never called me a freak." Sherlock said.

John wrapped a protective arm around Sherlock's shoulders. He didn't say anything else, and Sherlock didn't really want him to either. This was perfect.****

A/N- _Feel free to leave me some more one-word prompts in the reviews! _


	6. Self Consciousness John

**A/N-**_Oh my gosh this one is terrible terrible terrible. Oh well. asdghjkl;. _

John walked into the flat and slammed the door behind him. He stalked straight up to his room, not bothering to acknowledge Sherlock at all. What was wrong?

Sherlock watched John's movements, caught glimpses of his face. In a hurry to be away from people, but something had him moving slowly. His steps were slightly clumsy, so he'd been drinking. His cheeks were slightly pink, so he'd been trying to keep from crying. Thus, the date with his girlfriend, Mary, hadn't gone too well. Sherlock walked to the base of the staircase and listened upstairs. He heard something fall over, and then the bed creaking. So, John had kicked over the table and sat down on the bed. Sherlock's eyebrows pulled together and he walked up the stairs to John's door. "John? Are you alright?"

"'m fine." John's disgruntled reply came through the door.

"You've kicked over your table again. Clearly means something's bugging you."

"Take a guess." John hissed.

Sherlock paused. "Something happened with Mary, I take it?"

John inhaled deeply, trying hard not to respond with a sarcastic comment. "Yes, Sherlock, something happened with Mary."

"What happened?"

"Take another guess."

Sherlock pushed the door open to find John sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. "She broke up with you?"

John paused, taking a deep breath, this time as if to keep his voice from shaking. "Someone else. She... She met someone else. Weeks ago. She's been... She..."

"She was cheating." Sherlock concluded with a small nod. He took a few slow steps towards John.

"Yeah." John said. His voice cracked at the end of the word. "He knew, too. He knew she was with me. She didn't want to hurt me, she said." John looked up, his eyes more puffy than before. "I was going to propose. Next week. I was planning on getting the ring this weekend." he took a shaky breath, looking at the floor. "But she found someone better."

"Better." Sherlock stated, his eyebrows drawing together.

"Better." John repeated. "He's better than I am. He's funnier, kinder, more interesting, more attractive-"

"No."

"What?" John asked, looking back up.

"I said no."

"What do you mean, no?"

"He's not better than you. He's far from it."

"You've never met him."

"I don't have to." Sherlock caught John's eyes and held them there. "John, you are one of the most intriguing people I've ever met. In fact, you are the most intriguing person I've ever met. And it's hard to please me, you know that."

John let a smirk play across his face at Sherlock's sad attempt at humour. Sherlock smiled proudly, please at himself for getting John to smile.

"You really think I'm intriguing?"

"John, do I lie?"

"Yes."  
"...Alright, true. But do I lie to you?"

"Yes."

"About something like this, John." Sherlock said firmly.

John gave this a few moments' thought before responding. "No. I suppose not." He looked back down at the floor, thinking again. "That doesn't stop Mary thinking he's better." He muttered.

Sherlock was at a complete loss as to how to comfort John. "He's not. He's not better and she's an idiot." He said in a concluding voice, standing and making his way towards the door. "I'm making tea."

John looked up. "You're making tea?" he asked, disbelief in his voice.

"I'm making tea." Sherlock repeated. "Let's not go through this again."

"I'll be down in a while." John muttered, not willing to have any type of conversation with anyone at the moment.

"I'm putting on Doctor Who." Sherlock called from the stairs. John looked up again.

"Down in a minute!" he called, smiling.

Encouragement? Tea? Doctor Who? There was definitely something up with Sherlock. But why on earth would John stop it?


End file.
